


We Happy Few (hiatus)

by Iridessum



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dubious Consent, Forced Bonding, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Steve Rogers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rutting, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridessum/pseuds/Iridessum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve had been holding his breath inadvertently, caught in the shock of finally seeing his best friend for the first time in months, but it wasn’t long before he was recoiling, his grip on Bucky’s arm loosening as the laden smell of rut overcame him.</p><p>"Bucky, wait–"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill-ish kind of thing for [this lovely person](http://ohmyomegasteveandalphabucky.tumblr.com/) who needed more omega!Steve and alpha!Bucky. It was meant to be short but... I guess I got excited? I have about four parts planned out and a fluffy epilogue if there's enough interest in it! If you don't like to delve into the world of dubcon or you're finicky about tags, I would not suggest reading this. Otherwise, enjoy! I tried not to read over this too many times to pick it apart - I'm my own worst critic, my writing never seems to please me. I love comments and stuff, so don't feel intimidated or anything to drop a comment. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧
> 
> ~~Also I'm bad at smut. I'm so sorry.~~

Steve tried his best not to let the tiny voice in the back of his head convince him that he wouldn’t find Bucky, he did absolutely _everything_ he could to stop what his conscious repeated to him every hour, minute, and second of the day – Bucky isn’t going to come back. It was like some old, dusty record that played over and over again in his mind, something he couldn’t get out of his head despite his unbroken attempts. It was simply frustrating; after managing to pull together some sort of plan with Sam to take action in finding his friend, Steve had worked at the task endlessly for months on end. He and Sam scoped out different parts of the city each night, keeping in contact through their phones and only regrouping once the latter had persuaded Steve that they weren’t going to find Bucky, not that night. Sam would meet up with Steve and walk him home in the dead of night, patting his shoulder once they arrived at Steve’s apartment while concurrently doing what he could to encourage him that they would find Bucky… but they couldn’t stay out until four in the morning doing so.

And you know, Steve didn’t blame him. If he were Sam, he would likely be doing the same exact thing. But he wasn’t Sam, and it wasn’t a surprise when he would thank his teammate dully and shamble back inside his apartment in a mess of broken pieces, barely making it to the bed most nights as he wondered just where he was going wrong and how he needed to fix it. Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough? Maybe he didn’t have enough manpower for this job? It was only he and Sam going on this crazy roundabout hunt, but there was no way he could inform the others, or any type of authority for that matter, about whom he was after. It might be something to consider in the future, but not now. Steve couldn’t have an army of people cornering Bucky, especially when there was no immediate way to tell if Bucky was himself again or still in the mindset of the Winter Soldier. There was so much to think about, so much to reflect on, and the complexity and stressfulness of the whole situation was truly starting to work its way into the nooks and crannies of Steve’s tired mind.

So when Steve met up with Sam that night – right at nine, like they always agreed on – the other man gave Steve’s exhausted features a once over before speaking up in a hesitant tone. “You sure you wanna go out tonight..?” Sam drew his phone out of his pocket and Steve’s gaze flickered towards the lit screen. “It’s a Saturday, man... And I know we go out on the weekend, it’s nothin’ different than any other night we go out, but you…” Sam trailed off, giving the blond a frown. “You don’t look too well, y’know? What if we take a break for a few days? Maybe you’ll feel better, and I’m positive Bucky ain’t leavin’ the country.”

Steve gave Sam a look – and God, did Sam know _that_ look – but he responded in an oddly calm manner. “We can’t stop looking, not now–” Before Steve could finish, though, Sam waved his hands haphazardly and interrupted, “you look like a mess, Steve. I didn’t wanna say anything before, but honestly. I mean, hell, did you remember to take your suppressants? I can smell you, like _actual_ you and not that signature cheap cologne you always wear. Y’look like you haven’t slept or eaten in a week.” Sam let out a sigh and stepped back, flipping his phone over in his hands for a moment before putting it back in his pants pocket. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay. I know this is important to you, but you deserve better than to push yourself to any extreme over this.”

Steve ran his hands over his face, pondering Sam’s words and more than a little ashamed at how accurate some of those assumptions were. He had trouble eating, he had trouble sleeping, and now… “I’m not dead, nothing is wrong. I just– I’ll figure it all out after tonight, alright?” Steve wouldn’t admit it, but those suppressants Sam mentioned, the vital ones that allowed Steve to go about life without having to worry about a heat, he hadn’t taken in a while; but what were the chances, right? Steve had never had a normal heat cycle, even years in the past when he used to be smaller – it came and went, and between his size and sickly body and the somewhat unreliable source he used to receive his suppressants from, Steve really didn’t know what the usual time between his heats were. Books and the internet said heats for omegas were every two months or so, but he couldn’t be sure. Not one of his teammates were an omega, and most of them had been surprised to learn that Steve was. Apparently that small fact had been skipped over in the history books.

Even Sam, his poor friend who didn’t need to put up with Steve’s problems but always made the effort to help, was a beta himself. “I’m sorry, Sam,” Steve started uneasily, “I’ll take you up on that break proposition after tonight, probably. But… I just want to search around, just for a bit. You don’t have’ta stay out if you don’t want to. Text me if you decide to go home.” Sam stepped close to Steve and pat his arm. “I’m with you, pal. If you wanna look tonight, I’m not goin’ home early. Keep in touch, okay? You know where I’ll be at, and vice versa.” Steve glanced up at Sam, nodding slowly and giving him a sad smile. “Thanks.” Sam tipped his head in acknowledgement, squeezed Steve’s arm lightly, and turned to head in the opposite direction.

Steve stayed in his spot as he watched Sam’s figure grow smaller and smaller until he was finally out of sight in the far distance. He wished he could say something poetic, like the moon was bright and beautiful and the stars twinkled overhead the towering structures of the city and it all pointed towards the fact that he was going to find Bucky tonight, but he couldn’t. It felt like another night that would turn up nothing, and the way the stars seemed to dance infinitely in the dusky sky and the moon illuminated every shadowy alleyway and street in the city felt more like a sort of sardonic gesture. What would getting angry over _fucking_ space do, though? Steve turned to begin towards the part of town he’d mapped out for tonight – a small neighborhood on the outskirts of the Bronx. He’d looked everywhere in Brooklyn, in every abandoned building and back alley, even going so far as to bother the new residents as to whether they’d seen his friend or not, but he never got a lead.

Still, if Bucky wasn’t in Brooklyn he had to be in some part of New York. Steve hadn’t looked out of state much; other than a few times he’d made the trip back to D.C. to do a search or two, he had found just about as much information as his hunts at home were turning up.

He started his search along a street of small, antique looking shops. They were all closed except for a few that, after a quick look inside the large display windows, Steve saw they were only manned by a person or two. He walked aimlessly for a good half hour, wandering in and out of alleys behind tightly packed houses, hoping that no one would get frightened and call the cops on him. He'd had to cancel a hunt once or twice because of that. Usually, Steve had a plan in mind, but his head felt so jumbled and disorderly that night that he was forced to pause every now and then, look around, study his surroundings, gather where he was at, and then continue onward once he felt able enough to do so. It was only when he’d stopped for a second in some small park that he became aware of his being; he was warm, _really_ warm. Why was he warm? God, it wasn’t even warm outside. It was still the tail-end of winter, cold enough that he could watch his breath wisp before him in tiny white puffs. Steve pressed one hand to his face, closing his eyes and shaking his head vehemently. This couldn’t happen, not tonight. It was weird, he didn’t even get sick. He didn’t feel sick, but he felt… clammy? Was that the word? Steve stood rigid against some statue of a woman placed in the middle of the park, keeping his eyes shut for some minutes before opening them to closely observe his environment. There were park lights, a playground off to the left that seemed just a tad ominous with one of the lights flickering above. A few benches were scattered around the yard, and… and why in the hell was he focusing on this? He needed to find Bucky, or at least get some kind of damn hint as to where he might be.

Pushing away from the statue, Steve made it a few steps until he noticed it – his pants were wet. He muttered some half-asleep string of obscenities under his breath as he reached down to feel around quickly, and when he pulled his hand back up, he was dismayed at the sudden scent that reached his nose.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

He couldn’t remember the last time he experienced it, but he knew the scent and feel of slick. It was strong too, unreasonably strong, and Steve gagged lightly as he wiped his hand off on his shirt. Why was it happening right now? Why, of all nights, would it happen now? Maybe it was because he had mentally cursed space and the universe and it was karma coming back to bite him in the ass. Whatever the case, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. This topped it all – after all the shit he’d been through, a heat out of nowhere would be what ruined a night he might possibly find his friend. Honestly, there was no one to blame but himself, but Steve couldn’t help but feel like the universe was after him or something. Clumsily pulling out his phone, Steve hastily texted Sam, _regroup_ , and began back towards where they’d met up that night.

The thought never crossed Steve’s mind that there might be someone watching, or that someone might catch his scent; his concentration and focus was on getting back to the rendezvous point, although he couldn’t predict how Sam would react. Sam wasn’t an alpha, no, and he knew Sam could restrain himself, it was just… _aggravating_. Whether he would’ve made up his mind about a potential break or not, this heat was surely going to bench him for at least a week, maybe more depending on how badly it affected him.

Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, the neighborhood Steve had scoured through was silent. Excluding a few suspicious characters wandering the street and giving him questionable looks as he rushed past, there was nothing that put Steve on high alert straightaway. It wasn’t minutes later that Steve got a reply from Sam, and at the buzzing in his pocket, he took out his phone and unlocked the screen.

_so early? whats up? do u need me to come get u?_

Steve rounded a corner, slouching lazily against the side of some eerily dilapidated and vacant church. He texted back a fast _regroup_ and watched as his message sent. It wasn't long until the telltale _"…"_ bubble popped up from Sam’s end, indicating he was typing, and Steve kept his gaze glued on his phone as he waited – all until a strong hand buried itself in his hair, tugging him up with a vice grip. Steve’s hold on his phone faltered and it clattered to the ground loudly; his mouth opened in what should’ve come out as a stunned yelp, but all he managed was a croaky sounding gasp. He wrapped his hands about the arm above him and his frightened stare shifted to meet the scrutiny of the figure looming overhead. Steve’s eyes narrowed, and when he caught the slight glint of luminescence shimmering against the limb directly above, he froze in his panic.

“Bucky..?” 

There was a moment of excitement at the sight of his friend, a small instant where the corners of Steve’s mouth curled upwards into a relieved smile as he studied Bucky’s face. “You’re okay,” he said in disbelief, swallowing hard and watching as Bucky leaned closer to inspect him. Steve had been holding his breath inadvertently, caught in the shock of finally seeing his best friend for the first time in months, but it wasn’t long before he was recoiling, his grip on Bucky’s arm loosening as the laden smell of rut overcame him.

“Bucky, wait–” 

“мой,” Bucky growled aggressively, pulling Steve up against the wall further and leaning nearer to press his nose against the other man’s neck. Steve kept himself upright, shoved against the wall forcefully as Bucky pressed their bodies together; this… was a problem, a legitimate _fucking_ problem, because while Steve didn’t want to be locked in like this, he couldn’t help but submit to Bucky’s hold. He dipped his head submissively, just barely as Bucky moved to tip Steve’s chin to the side, the former keeping close as he made out the intermingling scents of a confused omega in heat and his own overpowering rut. 

The sad thing about this? Steve wanted this. Holy _shit_ did he want this, but he didn’t want it like this, not when Bucky’s eyes still didn’t hold a recollection of him, not when they both couldn’t be conscious of the intimate pleasure it might bring instead of the plain, irresistible lust this encounter was heavily burdened with. It was silly to think that this was the thing Steve had been after even before, before the war and the train and going on ice for seventy years. Steve had wanted this since he’d been a scrappy hormonal teenager, getting pulled out of fights with guys that were five times his size only to have Bucky nurse him back to health after losing sorely. He could remember Bucky’s callused hands roaming over his frail body, searching for wounds and bruises while the smaller listened to his friend’s lectures about why he shouldn’t be getting into brawls with random people ‘cause it was dangerous. _You’re a spunky little omega_ , Bucky used to joke weakly, _but people will take advantage of that, an’ I’m just tryin’ta look out for you, ‘kay?_ Steve would nod and agree, assuring Bucky he wouldn’t get into fights ever again – which of course he never upheld – but he’d hug Bucky closely, nestle his face into the crook of his neck and relax in his friend’s hold. Steve’s fondness of Bucky grew in a way he’d never expected, and he found himself somewhat jealous when Bucky came home with a woman or two practically stuck to his sides, laughing about what a great time they’d had – and Steve had always wished it was him, he’d always wanted to be the one walking home with Bucky hand-in-hand, reaching their apartment and joining him in bed with the intent of doing more than just cuddling because of the cold or pressing up against Bucky because he was sick. He’d wanted more, but he didn’t want it like this. 

“We can go home, Buck,” Steve whispered, whimpering brokenly when Bucky snapped at him in a fit of sudden annoyance. Steve shut his eyes and stilled as he listened to Bucky work around his pants, first fumbling with his own and then moving onto Steve’s. The cold air mixed with the potent smell of his heat and Bucky’s rut made Steve shiver. On the ground, he could make out the frantic ringtone of his phone as Sam’s name popped up once, twice, and on the third call Bucky dug the heel of his boot into the phone, cracking the screen unevenly. Steve’s breathing came out in ragged tendrils of air, mixing hotly with Bucky’s own frenzied and intense breaths. Bucky had locked eyes with Steve, staring him down piercingly, and the blond let his body yield, caving in to Bucky’s power-driven animalistic instincts. He paused, waiting, watching as Bucky worked his hands up to Steve’s narrow hips briefly; he reached out to gently place a hand against Bucky’s chest – he wasn’t even sure if it was to push the other man away or to draw him in more. 

They watched each other meticulously, and in the midst of it all Steve could feel part of him breaking for Bucky as he studied his demeanor. He was still rigid, on edge, cold and calculating, not much different than the last time he’d seen him, and Steve swore he could see Bucky trying to figure out just what to do next. “H-hold on, Buck,” Steve stuttered halfheartedly, “let’s go home, yeah?” The blond let his fingers trail lightly over Bucky’s chest. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, drawing blood and cringing as Bucky glanced down at his shaky hand. Steve was a bit surprised at Bucky’s appearance, still. Not that he doubted his friend couldn’t look out for himself, but he just seemed so… normal looking, like any other New Yorker walking down the road. He sported some kind of dark blue hoodie, and his hair was tied back in a sort of messy bun; Steve was tempted to reach out and brush some of the stray strands away, but he didn’t. Bucky’s pants had fallen about his ankles in a crinkled mess, and Steve took in an apprehensive breath as his eyes momentarily fell to Bucky’s prominent flagging erection, red and large and throbbing, the beginnings of precum leaking from the swollen head. When Bucky noticed Steve’s gaze had drifted, he took the blond by his shoulders and awkwardly turned him around, pressing him against the wall of the church while using his metal limb to hold him in place at the back of his neck. In dread, Steve struggled for a minute, pushing back against the wall in the hopes of possibly gaining some leverage, but Bucky was on him before he could do much. Bucky shoved his arm into Steve’s neck harder, and Steve whined compliantly, closing his eyes as he felt Bucky’s teeth scrape along the tender flesh between his neck and shoulder. “Bucky, _please_ …” 

Whether he was begging for Bucky to stop or to get the show on the road, Steve couldn’t tell himself. 

Bucky reacted, kicking Steve’s legs further apart; his flesh-and-blood hand ran along the insides of Steve’s trembling thighs, the slick coating his palm thickly, almost like some kind of fluid blanket. “ты так хорошо,” Bucky murmured thoughtfully, and without so much as a warning, he raised Steve’s hips and thrust into him, driving inside the larger man’s body as far as he could – the feeling of Steve around him, tight and hot and in _heat_ , was new to him, but it felt… nice. 

The thought of carnal desire quickly went over Bucky’s head, though, when Steve opened his mouth to yell in protest. He reached around to swiftly cover Steve’s mouth, shoving his fingers inside as he removed his other arm on Steve’s neck. Bucky held Steve’s hip with his other hand, now, digging his cold fingers into the warm, soft skin, leaving mottled blue and black bruises while he fucked Steve against the wall relentlessly. 

Steve could only listen to the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh, Bucky thrusting into him like some sort of rabid animal. He was reluctant to bite down on the fingers gagging him, but the taste of his own slick on his palate made him want to vomit. This was like something Steve saw on the news, or in case reports, or even in movies, but now he was going to be just another one of the omega statistics everyone joked about; he didn’t want to call this rape, he didn’t want to _fucking_ call this as him being used by his best friend, but what else could it be classified as? Yeah, Steve wanted this, but… 

Soon enough, Bucky’s thrusts had slowed, and Steve groaned in agony as the feeling of Bucky’s knot grew inside of him. “Stop, Bucky,” he pleaded achingly, speaking muffled around the fingers exploring his mouth, “st-stop… Fuck, stop–” Bucky heard Steve’s words, but they didn’t register. Instead, he tilted his head forwards and bit into the junction between Steve’s neck and shoulder he’d felt over before, his teeth piercing the skin without difficulty, and he could feel Steve involuntarily clench around him and the throaty moan in the back of Steve’s mouth as he drew blood. 

Mated. This was what Steve had wanted, wasn’t it? To be with someone, to be bonded to someone he could spend the rest of his life with, to possibly even think of settling down and maybe, just maybe, having a family. That’s what omegas did, but as it stood now, with Bucky pressed red-faced against him and pumping him full with his knot, Steve didn’t think… he wanted this anymore. He felt like he should say something in the awkward silence of waiting for Bucky’s knot to go down and being forced up adjacent to a church, but he didn’t. He stood motionless save for the slightly quivery state his body was in. He couldn’t see Bucky’s face, not from how he was facing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to see his friend’s expression anyways. 

It was noiseless between them, only the sound of their rhythmic breathing filling the gaps, but Steve was taken off-guard when Bucky eventually spoke. “ _Steve_ …” His name, muttered soft and gentle, laced with what sounded like regret. Steve choked back a sob and nodded. “I’m here, Buck. ‘s okay.” It felt odd to be talking like this, like he was speaking casually to a friend, but he figured it was better than the deafening silence from before. Steve stood a little straighter, as much as the knot locking him and Bucky together would allow. “Ironic… th-that we did this on the side of a church,” Steve joked feebly, trying to lighten the mood of the situation. Bucky kept his mouth closed, however, and didn’t utter another word. 

The knot didn’t last longer than ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Steve had the feeling Bucky was just as inexperienced as he was when it came to this, but somehow… they’d gotten by okay – as okay as this whole situation could ever be. When Bucky’s knot went down, he pulled out of Steve quickly and grabbed his pants that still sat around his feet. Steve didn’t move. He listened as Bucky struggled with his pants, hearing him mutter things in a husky Russian voice. When he finally worked up the will to turn his head, Bucky was retreating, sprinting down the alley that wrapped around the backside of the church as if something was chasing him. 

That was it. 

Steve didn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think Bucky would have left him. Part of him felt angry towards Bucky, that this was like some fuck-and-run deal and Steve would have to handle the consequences himself, but the more he thought about it as he stumbled in getting his pants on, Bucky had to have fled for a reason. What reason, Steve didn’t want to guess, but hopefully… Hopefully Bucky would return. He was bonded to Steve now – this wasn’t just some kiddy crush anymore. Steve bent down carefully to grab his phone, frowning at the damage it had taken from Bucky’s boot. It was still workable, luckily. Steve texted Sam in the aftershock of what had happened. 

_meet @ my apartmnt.. dont txt anyone else, please_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> мой - "Mine."
> 
> ты так хорошо - "You're so good."
> 
> Thanks to StarSpangledBucky for helping me correct Google's screwups!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been nine weeks – that was about two months, two long, torturous months – since Steve had last seen Bucky. Nine weeks since he’d encountered his friend in the alley in the Bronx, two weeks since he’d begun throwing up every morning, and only a few days since he’d started to actually consider that he’d been handed more than the anxiety that the incident those two months ago had incurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! As you can see, I'm not good at sticking by release dates, so if I say a chapter will be released soon, please don't hold it to me. I need to get better at that. As for this chapter, there was supposed to be a lot more, but I wanted to get something out, so chapter three will likely just be the second part of this chapter. Oh well, I'm sure you guys won't mind a little longer story, right?
> 
> Thank you so much for your support! I've never gotten this much feedback on a story before. It's really appreciated. ;M;
> 
> Update 03/27/16: Hey all if you're still here and kicking lmfao. Anyways... as you can probs tell I'm super behind on this story, and a lot of things have happened in my life recently where I simply haven't had the energy to write this. It's going to be on hiatus for a bit, but with that being said it WILL be finished. I have not forgotten about it. I'm too OCD and it'll kill me if I don't finish, so if you're waiting on this I swear to you it'll be done! I just can't tell you when; there's about 3 more chapters I need to do. In any case, thanks again for all your love omg! It means the world to me tbqh.

It had been nine weeks – that was about two months, two long, torturous months – since Steve had last seen Bucky. Nine weeks since he’d encountered his friend in the alley in the Bronx, two weeks since he’d begun throwing up every morning, and only a few days since he’d started to actually consider that he’d been handed more than the anxiety that the incident those two months ago had incurred. Steve didn’t stay at the tower as much as he used to; he stayed in his apartment most days, half because it was more comforting to him and half because he knew that the looks he got while at the tower were filled with more than just concern. The night after… what had happened, Sam walked Steve home in silence, and it was only when they’d both entered the apartment that Sam had asked him why he’d called off the search so early in the night. Sam noticed how disheveled Steve had looked, but the good, righteous Captain simply explained that he’d started to feel sick and he couldn’t search that night.

And Sam knew that was a load of _shit_ because Steve didn’t get sick, so he started looking for other signs about what had gone down. The way Steve held himself, slightly off balance and his appearance, clearly messy, gave Sam a hint, but then he caught the scent – the scent of someone else on Steve, and Sam had to frown and recoil a bit when it finally hit him in the enclosed apartment room. “Who did this to you?” he’d queried, and Steve gave him a frustrated sigh. “What are you talking about, I’m not–” Sam shook his head. “Someone marked you, I can _smell_ it. I’m not an idiot, Steve. You know what that’s called? Rape. That’s what that’s called, and there’re some pretty strict fucking laws about omegas who are mated forcibly.” 

And Steve, in the moment, didn’t know what to say. It sounded shocking to hear it from someone else, especially when that someone else was Sam. “What makes you think that, huh?” His voice had risen just a few notches, but the aggravation was evident in his tone. “Maybe it’s just that cheap cologne I wear that you talk of so much.” Sam’s brows knitted together and he’d stepped forward to press the collar of Steve’s shirt down, and the slowly bruising mark that Bucky had made on the blond’s shoulder was more than enough proof for him to know what had happened to Steve. Steve, in response, had snapped at Sam, shoving him away roughly with a subtle snarl. He hadn’t meant to. _Fuck_ , he hadn’t meant to, but Sam had been understanding in the moment after as Steve tried to apologize for lashing out. “I’m just trying to look out for you… you know that, right?” Steve nodded at Sam’s assurance, then quietly thanked his friend for his concern, and they parted ways for the night shortly after that.

But now it was serious, more so than Steve could’ve ever imagined. He’d yet to have another heat, which, in itself didn’t worry him too much just because his heats were always irregular, but it was as he stepped into the bathroom that morning and finally tried to clear his mind of his own arrogance that he noticed it – the small curve of his abdomen, pushing out just the slightest bit from his normal figure. He ran a steady hand over the new visible weight, thinking, _worrying_ , because this sure as hell wasn’t normal. Yeah, there was the possibility that he could’ve been slipping up on his workouts, but he hadn’t; he’d been consistent, he’d even gone out more for his jogs and hours in the gym after what Bucky did to him to ease his nerves, so he shouldn’t be getting fatter… Wasn’t that how things worked out?

Steve was eventually pulled from his frozen terror staring in the bathroom mirror at the sound of knocking at the front door, and he quickly tugged down his shirt and made himself somewhat presentable before going to see just who was ready to pester him today. He spared a glance out the small peephole in the door, frowning at the figures of Sam and Natasha. Great, of course Sam would bring her. It wasn’t even that Steve didn’t like her, she was just so straightforward and with his shit now–

“Open up, Rogers.” Natasha’s voice rang out like a bell, and Steve opened the door for her and Sam reluctantly. Steve was one for company, no doubt, but as of late he’d been wanting to isolate himself, to keep away from the others unless it was absolutely dire that he was needed. He still needed time to collect himself and he assumed early on that his friends might think him selfish for it, but the casual smiles that both Natasha and Sam sported were enough to give him an odd sense of reassurance. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder just what they were here for. Sam obviously knew what had happened, but Natasha…

“Sam told me what happened.”

Oh.

Steve shot Sam a look and the latter gave him his own in return. Natasha seemed to take note of the battling expressions, so she moved between them easily and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t get mad at him, he did the right thing, ‘cause you know what? Today, we’re going to go ahead and do our own little tests…” Natasha pulled some small packets out of her back pocket, flipping through them briefly before she held them up so that Steve could see. Steve visibly went a little pale.

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting me to take a pregnancy test. Are you crazy?”

Natasha reached forward to take Steve’s hand and put the packaged tests in his open palm; she had expected him to throw them away, or give them back to her, or anything other than keep them, but to her surprise he actually glanced down at them with a thoughtful look on his features. Not a happy look, no, but he was thinking, she could see. “All you have to do is piss on it,” she said and clicked her tongue. “Those were the best brand I saw, although a home pregnancy test isn’t always… accurate. But it’ll give us an idea. You’ve holed yourself away for a while, Steve. We’re worried about you, and honestly, a pregnancy is the least of your concerns. I’d personally be more worried about diseases, but that’s just me.”

Steve seemed to waver on his feet some, staring down at the tests incredulously as he listened to Natasha talk. He fucking hoped Bucky hadn’t had any disease, but a child was further up on the oh-shit scale than a disease. He just knew that he couldn’t abort the little spawn if he was indeed carrying, but he wasn’t exactly fond of bringing a child into the world without… well, Bucky. He couldn’t help but feel a sudden pang of anger towards Bucky, anger towards the fact that he’d done this to him unwillingly, but–

Maybe he wasn’t even pregnant. He might just have gained a few pounds. This might all be over nothing, all of his panic, and after these stupid tests showed a negative he’d get back into the nitty gritty and focus on finding his friend again – despite what Bucky had done, Steve refused to leave him out in the city by his lonesome. 

With the packets in hand, Steve looked up at Natasha and Sam momentarily before turning to head towards his bathroom. “I’ll be back,” he said quietly, and Natasha and Sam shared a silent nod as they sat down on one of the couches in the smaller living room, waiting. Steve shut the door when he got to his room, and again when he managed to shamble into his bathroom. There was no dramatic moment, no standing and staring in the mirror and wondering _oh, gee, what am I gonna do if this thing turns out to be positive_ – Steve tore open the packets, all of them, and dropped his pants. It was awkward, in a sense, as he watched himself urinate on the sticks; it didn’t feel right, it was something that he never imagined himself doing. He didn’t want a family, not really. He had the team, the team was his family, but when it came to a child and having to raise it for God knows how long, Steve wasn’t so sure that he’d be able to even do it properly. He didn’t know how to change a diaper, or how to hold a baby, or what to do when they started crying in the middle of the night, and he’d probably honestly fail in even trying to put on those teeny baby clothes too. Steve wasn’t cut out to be a dad, or a mom, or whatever the hell he was supposed to be in this situation. It scared him.

When he was done with the tests, Steve put them down not-so-gently on the counter and shuffled back out to the living room while he waited for the results. Natasha and Sam both looked up at him when he came back out, and Steve offered a lame shrug. “I’m waiting for something to show up,” he said, trying to play it off casually. Natasha hummed. “They don’t take too long to show up.” Steve nodded; the packets had said about five minutes, and they’d also suggested that the user go distract themselves for said five minutes and not wait around in the bathroom like a madman. 

“What are you going to do if it turns out to be positive?” Natasha asked abruptly, and Steve crossed his arms over his chest as his brows furrowed in thought. “You get straight to the point, don’t you?” Natasha gave Steve a cheeky kind of face. “It’s important, you know you’re going to have to get vitamins and prenatal care and clothes–” Steve frowned. “Clothes?” Natasha waved a hand at him. “Yeah, clothes. You know how pregnant people grow, right..?” Steve scratched at the back of his head. “Oh… yeah, clothes. Those clothes.” Next to Natasha, Sam snorted. “ _Those_ clothes? Well, they’ll fit better than the clothes you have now. You wear some skintight things, Cap.” Steve glanced down at himself, and the curve of his stomach seemed to look much larger now in the midst of the conversation. Natasha tipped her head some. “You already look bigger…” Steve’s face tinged red in embarrassment and he bit his lip. “No, it’s only extra weight. I’ve been eating a lot–” Sam chirped up again, “and I think cravings are a symptom of pregnancy too, right?” Steve threw his hands up in frustration and turned to trudge back inside the bathroom. “Keep theorizing, when all this is over you both can point out my tight-shirt-and-chub-belly flaws later.”

Inside the bathroom, Steve grabbed the tests on the counter, flipping them over and narrowing his eyes in annoyance as he read the results. The first seemed to still be developing for some reason, but the others…

Positive.

Positive.

_Fucking positive._

_**Goddamn fucking positive.** _

Steve stared at the tests in disbelief, watching and hoping and praying that they would change to negatives if there was any God left in this world, but when the first one slowly but surely revealed the dreaded cross that he’d wanted so badly not to show, he threw the tests against the ground in a flurry of rage; Steve kicked them around, even crushing one under his shoe, and he only seemed to calm when an urgent knock on his door sounded. Steve spared a look at himself in the bathroom mirror, at the mess that he’d become in such a short time. It was pathetic.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Natasha’s voice echoed from behind the door, and Steve covered his face as he suppressed a cry.

“I _can’t_ do this.”


End file.
